


Storm Over Thedas: Collected Ficlets

by MsBarrows



Series: Storm Over Thedas [3]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ask Box, F/M, Ficlet, M/M, Post Game, Prompt Fic, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/pseuds/MsBarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets from my Tumblr blog related to the Storm Over Thedas AU. Originally posted in my "In the Maker's Light" ficlets collection, but now given their own document for better organization with their series. Some of these were written in response to a "Story in my Ask Box" meme and some written for prompts that people asked me to fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eye of the Storm Ficlets 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a reblog meme on Tumblr, where rebloggers wanted short fics posted in their 'Ask' in-box. In no particular order, these are most of the ficlets I wrote in response to it, apart from a handful that the recipients never posted. All of these particular ones fall with "Eye of the Storm" precursor headcanon territory.

Anders felt a rare smile lifting his lips as he watched Merrill, spinning in circles under the Vhenadahl with her arms outspread and face turned up to the sky. She was so childishly delighted by the rare snowfall that he could almost forget, for a moment, that she was a maleficar. He looked to one side, to share his joy in her delight with his companions. Hawke was watching her as well, smiling too. Fenris was standing on one leg, like a lanky stork, frowning down at the sole of one lifted foot.

* * *

Hawke looked up as Isabela stepped over to his side and dropped gracefully down to sit cross-legged beside him.

"This is good," she said, spooning up a mouthful of the rabbit stew from her plate.

"Yes, it is, very good," Merrill agreed, from where she sat on the other side of him. "I'm surprised you're such a good cook, Sebastian," she added.

Sebastian looked up from where he was sitting on the far side of the fire, and smiled wryly. "I learned a few things in my youth. Some worth remembering."

* * *

Hearing raised voices, Sebastian came to a stop. They were arguing again, as they always did. More angrily than usual, by the sound of it. He bit his lip, considering intervening, but knew they would not thank him. He eased forward, in time to see the argument end, the two part. He watched them both admiringly, the white-haired elf stalking away, the apostate slumping before turning and wandering off, back down to Darktown. He followed the warrior; at least that one he could safely call friend.

* * *

Sebastian looked along the table, forcing a smile. It was nice of Hawke to occasionally invite him for these gatherings in Varric's rooms at the Hanged Man, but he never felt quite comfortable at them. Perhaps because he could never escape the feeling that, apart from Fenris, most of Hawke's companions merely tolerated his presence here because Hawke had invited him. He'd rather have stayed in his room at the chantry. Or perhaps gone to visit Fenris, for good wine and intelligent conversation.

* * *

Fenris watched the mage walking away, frowning angrily. As he watched the slumped shoulders and lowered head of the man disappearing into the darkness, he felt a brief irrational desire to follow the apostate and apologize for his harsh words. Instead he spat a curse and turned away.

He found Sebastian still standing nearby, watching him guardedly. "Sorry," Fenris said. "He brings out the worst in me."

Sebastian nodded understandingly. "And you in him," he agreed. "Come. Past time we went home."

* * *

Fenris leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an angry frown on his face. He ignored the worried or furtive looks the people leaving the clinic were giving him.

Finally the apostate came out, alone, to put out the paired lanterns. He froze as he caught sight of Fenris standing in the shadows nearby. "What do _you_ want," he asked warily. Fenris straightened up, and limped a few steps closer. Anders frowned down at the bloody footsteps he was leaving behind. "Come in, then," he said, and sighed.

* * *

Fenris threaded his way through the crowded bar, wanting only to reach the door and get outside, to head back to the solitude of his own home. He shouldn't have come to the Hanged Man, not when his memories of their recent battle with Danarius still had him feeling so unnerved.

"Fenris! Wait!" he heard Sebastian call from behind him.

He would have ignored him, but he crashed into someone at the door; another elf, tanned and blond. He snarled a curse, an apology, and turned to glare at the prince.

* * *

Seeing the orange-red glare reflecting off the clouds overhead, he felt as if a great weight had lifted off of him. It was done. Finished. Or just begun; the light a rallying cry that no mage could fail to ignore, nor any man who believed, as he did, that the chantry was a tool of oppression. He turned to Hawke, a wide smile on his lips. And felt his smile falter in the face of the look of horrified disbelief on his lover's face.

"What have you done, Anders?" Hawke asked, voice a hoarse whisper.


	2. Eye of the Storm Ficlets 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "reblog for a fic in Ask box" meme did another pass on Tumblr last night. So, yes, I wrote a bunch more of them. Here are all the "Eye of the Storm" headcanon precursor ones.

Anders slumped back in his chair and frowned as he watched Hawke, sitting on the corner of the table by Varric's chair, arms crossed and laughing at something the dwarf had said. He wished that the warrior would finish his business with Varric so they could head home; it had been a long, hard day slogging through the sands of the Wounded Coast, putting up with acid commentary from Fenris and Sebastian the entire day. He just wanted to get back to Hawke's place, bathe, and be fucked into the bed.

* * *

Fenris worriedly checked the table a third time. Bottle of red wine, a loaf of bread and some soft cheese to spread it with, a single goblet, and a flask of potable water. He preferred to drink his wine straight, from the bottle, but Sebastian always had his well-watered, and nursed the single goblet of it all evening.

He enjoyed these evening of comradeship and long, rambling conversations; a pity he didn't get along as well with any other of Hawke's companions. But one good friend was enough.

* * *

Anders frowned as he looked toward where the young man - barely more than a boy, really - was kneeling in the sand beside the body of the qunari. At least the Viscount's son hadn't been hurt himself; not physically, anyway.

He could only imagine what must be going through Seamus' head at the moment, after seeing his friend bloodily killed at close quarters, followed by Hawke's battle with the mercenaries.

A handsome lad; and perhaps a little overly protected by his father. Poor little rich boy.

* * *

Fenris sighed with relief as the door to the mansion closed behind him. Another day spent in company with Hawke, the apostate, and the maleficarum finally over with. He sometimes wondered if Hawke chose who to invite along on these things based on their entertainment value; he'd caught a grin on Hawke's face more than once as he and the mages sniped verbally at each other. He went down to the cellars in search of wine; Sebastian would be by later to help drink it. He smiled, annoyance forgotten.

* * *

Isabela felt like pouting. It was rare for her to have trouble drawing the attention of the men or women she was attracted to; especially when it was someone she'd had a mutually satisfactory encounter with before. She had been very interested in reprising her evening with Anders and his little magic trick. Unfortunately, he seemed to already have a relationship with someone else. And her second choice, Hawke... well, it would be in bad taste for her to pursue Anders' boyfriend in place of him.

* * *

Sebastian almost didn't notice the visitor, lost in his own thoughts as he was, but the man stopped in a pool of light a few feet from where he stood. A tall man, lean, with red-gold hair caught back in a ponytail, wearing shabby robes with absurd feathered pauldrons, a staff slung across his back. He frowned and was about to move forward to speak to the man when the doors opened and admitted a second man; one known to him. Hawke.

"Anders!" the warrior called. The mage turned, and smiled warmly.


	3. Ask Box Ficlets

**Guillaume/Antony**

_Note – these are OC templars from towards the end of "Eye of the Storm". This is a glimpse of them at some point pre-Eyes._

Guillaume settled on a chair in the corner of the dining hall, feeling grouchy. He missed Ellis; the two of them had been a pair for years, since Guillaume had been a scrawny new-made templar, still wet behind the ears. But Ellis was gone now; retired, not due to lyrium addiction as would not have been due for some years yet, but due to injury. A wound gone septic, from a minor injury he hadn't taken proper care of; a damned foolish way for a good man to loose a limb, and almost his life.

He was to be paired with someone new, now. He was not looking forward to it, even if Rémi had promised it would be someone he could trust. His brother had his own agenda, and someone Rémi trusted wouldn't necessarily be someone he felt like trusting as well. Though he supposed he could at least trust that Rémi would have made sure whomever it was would not betray them.

He sighed, and pushed his food around on his plate, before taking another mouthful of it. He had little appetite; too much worry. What if Rémi had misjudged, and this new partner of his was untrustworthy? The thought of the fate that awaited them all - and especially him - if the Seekers ever learned of them...

His appetite gone entirely, he pushed his plate away and rose to his feet. He turned to leave, and almost walked right into another templar; a very young one, with the still-gawky physique of someone barely out of their last growth spurt. Maker, they were swearing them in younger every year, it sometimes seemed...

"Whoops, sorry!" the younger man exclaimed, and smiled cheerfully at him. "Are you Guillaume?"

"Yes," he answered, warily, wishing the young sprout would move aside so he could leave.

The other's grin widened. "Good! I thought so - I am Antony," he said. "Your new partner."

" _You_ are..." he exclaimed, then gave the youngster a second look. "Impossible," he said flatly. This... this _puppy_ was not suitable material for a partner for him! What on Thedas had Rémi been _thinking_...

Antony seemed not in the least put out by his disbelief, and merely gestured to Guillaume's abandoned seat. "Please, join me?" he asked politely. "We should at least talk a little, before you decide I am unsuitable."

Guillaume snorted, but grudgingly returned to his seat. He supposed he would have to at least talk with the man, give him some small chance to prove himself. In the end, it turned out to be merely the first of a great many times that Antony talked him into something, often against his better judgement. The man had a very persuasive tongue.

* * *

**Those two templars seemed like rather pleasant fellows. I friendSHIP them, huurrr! So OC Templars, getting to know each other a little bit. Do they have something in common, besides the.. being templars thing? How was Antony found to be suitable - a special mage friend, or..?**

Guillaume leaned his two-handed sword against the side of the well, and dropped the bucket down, hauling on the rope hand-over-hand to retrieve it. He poured the water out over his head, sighing in relief as it ran down his head and torso, then dropped the bucket again. He drank deeply from the bucket, poured what was left over his head, then handed the now-empty bucket to Antony as he moved aside.

"That was a good practise," he said approvingly, slicking his dripping hair back from his face. "You are quite good with that shield."

Antony nodded as he hauled on the rope. "I had a good teacher," he said, and smiled. "Besides, if I was not good with the shield, someone might scar my pretty face, and that would be a terrible waste, yes?"

Guillaume snorted, but didn't comment. Antony was quite attractive, that was true, with his black hair and dark blue eyes, but it was not the sort of thing you could say to another man. Certainly not to one you'd only known for such a short time. "You should grow a beard," he said.

"What, and be all hairy like you?" Antony asked with a grin, before dumping a bucket of water over his own head.

"It would make you look older," Guillaume pointed out reasonably, trying not to stare at the water trickling down the other man's muscular torso. He looked away, down at the mat of brownish-blond hair on his own chest, running his hands over his chest and arms to slick off most of the remaining water.

"Ah, but people underestimate me all the time because I look so young," Antony pointed out, then laughed, and spoke quietly as he dropped the bucket down the well a second time. "Besides, that pretty new kitchen maid likes me without a beard, I think. Did you not see how she was watching me at breakfast this morning?"

Guillaume grinned. "I am afraid it is not you she was staring at," he said calmly.

"Oh? Why not?" Antony asked, as he turned away and resumed hauling on the rope.

Guillaume glanced over, admiring the way Antony's muscles moved as he pulled up the heavy bucket. "I am sure it was not you she was looking at," he explained calmly, as he retrieved his sword, "Because it was _me_ that she had just spent the night in bed with. And you're right, she is indeed very pretty," he added, then turned away, hiding a grin as he walked off.

* * *

**Zevran/Fenris - Post!Eye of the Storm**

"I hate boats," Zevran said, frowning at the ships lined up along the quay.

"Ships," Fenris corrected him, looking around distractedly. "They are called ships. I am not overly fond of them myself."

"Why? Do you get seasick?" Zevran asked curiously.

"No. But I prefer travelling by land. At least there I can run away if I have to."

"Ah. A good reason. It is, in fact, the very reason why I hate boats."

"Don't call them boats, it makes Isabela mad. Ah, and there she is"

"A good point. Fine. For this trip alone, I will endeavour to call them _ships_ ," Zevran agreed.

"For someone who grew up in a seaside town, you seem remarkably ignorant about ships and the sea," Fenris said, giving him a curious look.

Zevran grinned. "It is part of my charm."


	4. Sebastian and Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a prompt on Tumblr asking if Sebastian and Fenris from Eye of the Storm could hook up. And immediately thought of a time when it could have occurred. Had to wrestle with the story a bit to get it to come out without either too much exposition, or too much angst (or both), and this is the end result.

Sebastian started at the sound of a loud knock on the door to his room. His deerhound, Gyfeillgar, a descendant of Anders' old dog Ganwyn, scrambled to her feet and barked excitedly. Someone the dog recognized, then, he realized, even before a familiar voice called out.

"Sebastian – open up. I know you're in there."

Fenris' voice. He rolled off the bed and stumbled over to the door. There was another thunderous knocking just as he reached it.

"Sebastian! Open up or I'll open this door myself," the elf called out.

That drew a faint smile to Sebastian's face; he had little doubt the elf would make good on the threat if necessary. "I'm opening it, just a moment..." he called back, and fumbled with the bar that held the door shut.

The door swung open. Fenris took a half-step forward, stopping in the open doorway with Gyfeillgar fawning at his feet. He stroked her head as he ran a sharply evaluative eye over Sebastian; a look that made him glad he'd actually rose from his bed long enough to bathe and change that morning, though his clothes were rumpled from lying on the bed most of the day.

Fenris looked much as he always did – his hair having been white as long as Sebastian had known him, there was no real change to it, other than the length at which he now wore it, a long sleek ponytail. There were, all told, little signs in him of ageing – slightly deeper lines across his forehead and bracketing his mouth, crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, a slight loosening of the skin of his neck. Still as handsome as he had ever been, handsomer if anything, as he now had the self-assured posture and manner that he'd been lacking in his youth.

"You look better than I'd feared," said Fenris, the head-to-toe examination over. "Ewan asked me to look in on you; he and Niawen have been worried about you, you know."

Sebastian grimaced and stepped back, gesturing for Fenris to enter. "I suppose they've been having regular reports from the servants since Anders' died," he said, then sighed and scrubbed at his hair for a moment. "I won't say they're without reason to worry, not when..." he trailed off, looking around the room.

"Not when you've barely left this room in the three months since lighting his pyre?" Fenris asked, voice gentle.

Sebastian winced, and nodded. "Yes. It's just..." he broke off again, shaking his head, and turned his back to the elf, unable to continue. "Seventeen years together, and now he's gone," he choked out, fighting back tears.

He heard the door close, then Fenris took ahold of his shoulders, turning him back around and pulling him into a hug. "It's okay to grieve," Fenris said quietly. "Go ahead and cry."

So he did, leaning on the elf and letting the tears flow. Not that it was the first time he'd cried since bringing home Anders' empty, tainted shell and seeing it consigned to the waiting pyre. Far from it. But it was the first time he'd openly shared his grief with another, dampening the shoulder of a friend instead of the pillow on his bed, or the fur of one of their – his – pets.

At some point Fenris guided him over to sit down on the edge of the bed, hand rubbing soothingly up and down Sebastian's back, holding him until the storm of tears had ended, and even afterwards, while he just leaned on the elf's shoulder and felt... comforted. Not alone any more.

After a while he sighed, and straightened up. "Thank you," he said, voice still thick from crying.

"You're welcome," Fenris said, and smiled, one of those honest, open smiles he'd learned to make some time in his first few years with Zevran. "And now you are to go wash your face, while I fetch us a tray from the kitchen, and then we will talk."

"All right," Sebastian agreed, and went off to his bathing chamber while the elf disappeared off to the kitchens, the deerhound following along at his heels with tail waving. The elf returned to his bedroom not long after he did, carrying a large tray in both hands and without the dog. There were two bowls of fragrant stewed chicken with vegetables, a plate of slices of bread baked just that day, thickly spread with fresh butter from the village, and a dessert of stewed berries spooned over sweet cornbread and topped with clotted cream. Sebastian did not feel much appetite at first, but he couldn't refuse to sit down and eat with Fenris. He picked at his food at first, but a glare from Fenris made him take a few real mouthfuls of food, and once he'd done that, it was easier to continue eating normally than not.

Fenris chatted while they ate, not expecting or even waiting for any response from Sebastian but just talking, on a number of subjects – how well his vineyards were doing this year, the latest news from Kirkwall, gossip about the other nobles of Starkhaven. Niawen, he informed Sebastian, was likely pregnant again, though she was waiting until the first few dangerous months had passed before making any formal announcement. And his favourite mare had thrown twin stallions, both with the grey-speckled coat and creamy mane and tail of their infamous grandsire Ari.

"How is Ari?" Sebastian asked, smiling slightly as he remembered the day he'd gifted the horse to Fenris. There had been a near-instant bond between the two, and the stallion had gone on to be the premiere stallion of Fenris' horse-breeding efforts.

Fenris smiled. "Very well. I rode him here; perhaps tomorrow you'll join me for a ride and can see for yourself."

"I'd like that," Sebastian said, then looked curiously at the elf. "How long are you planning to say? Not that I am in any rush to get rid of you, you understand..."

Fenris nodded. "Of course. And the answer is, as long as it takes for me to be sure you're sufficiently recovered from Anders' death and won't do yourself a mischief, either intentionally or by neglecting yourself."

Sebastian flushed, both touched that the elf would want to do so, and embarrassed that he clearly felt it necessary. And... he couldn't deny that it wasn't. No, not intentionally, not when, unlike Anders, he was still hale and hearty, his health as good as it had ever been, bar a lengthy period of little sleep and not eating properly. But he had lost considerable condition over the last three months, yes, and really should be taking better care of himself. It was just... so hard to care about anything, with Anders gone.

Fenris pushed away his now-empty bowl and rose to his feet. "Go have a bath, Sebastian – I'll take care of this and then go check on my horses, and then come back again," he said, and started moving dishes back onto the tray. Sebastian was startled to see that he'd eaten pretty much everything that had been set before him.

"I bathed this morning," he protested.

"Bathe again. A good hot soak bath. I'll be back in an hour," Fenris told him sternly, picked up the tray, and left.

Sebastian did as told, filling the capacious tub with steaming hot water and on impulse adding some of the bath oil he had not used since Anders' death, the bergamot scented one that Anders had so loved him using. He was tense when he first got into the tub, but the heat and the lemony scent soon relaxed him, the scent in particular making him remember some particularly memorable moments over the years with Anders. He cried again, but quietly, lying back in the tub with tears leaking out from under closed lids rather than the outright sobbing of earlier. The water was cooling by the time he sat up, rinsed his face clean, then rose from the bath. He wrapped a towel around his waist, then returned to the bedroom.

To his surprise Fenris was already there, sitting in a chair and reading. The elf looked up at him as he entered. "I was beginning to think I should look in and be sure you were all right," Fenris said, closing and putting aside his book, then rose to his feet, looking Sebastian over again. "You look better," he said approvingly.

"I feel at least a little better," Sebastian agreed. "Err... has a room been arranged for you for the night?" he asked, feeling rather self-conscious to be dressed in just a towel before Fenris. True, the elf had seen him dressed in substantially less a time or two at festivals and suchlike, but that was... well, there was a huge difference between wearing nothing but a loincloth for the harvest fest, and being near-naked in the privacy of his bedroom. He felt him blushing as Fenris continued to look steadily at him.

"I will be sleeping here," the elf said, to his surprise.

"Here...? But..."

"You have been too much alone since Anders died. I will be spending the nights here," Fenris said firmly, and gestured to where his saddlebags were set on the floor in a corner of the room. "I will change too; it is almost time for bed anyway," he said, then turned his back and walked over, his hands already working at the laces at the neck of his shirt.

Sebastian hastily turned away, walking over to his own wardrobe. He quickly pulled on a clean nightshirt, only removing the towel once he was covered. He kept his back turned, giving the elf time to change.

"I am changed," Fenris said, voice amused, and Sebastian turned back around.

It was... decidedly _odd_ , to see the elf dressed for bed. They'd shared a camp at night more than once, both years ago back in Kirkwall when adventuring with Hawke, and occasionally in the years since, notably during the wars. But Fenris had usually shared a tent with Zevran, and even when they did sleep together for one reason or another, it had been in partial armour, or at least well clothed, ready in case of unexpected attack, not in nightshirts.

Fenris was not in the least perturbed by their state of dress, and walked over to the bed, turning down the sheets. "Which side do you prefer?" he asked.

"Err... furthest from the window," Sebastian said hesitantly and walked around the bed, Fenris passing him as they changed sides. Fenris climbed into bed and lay down without any hesitation. Sebastian joined him, feeling, if anything, even more self-conscious. He lay almost rigidly awake, not finally relaxing and falling asleep himself until long after Fenris' breathing had evened out in sleep.

He woke late the next morning, having slept soundly for the first time in months, to find Fenris sitting up in bed beside him, already dressed and reading again from his book. Fenris insisted on him getting up and dressed, eating, and then going on a long rambling walk around the nearby countryside with the elf. He was out of breath by the time they returned to the farmhouse; months of doing little but lying in bed grieving had put him in poor condition. He meekly obeyed all Fenris' suggestions – mildly phrased orders – about sleep and diet and exercise over the next few days.

"You're looking much better now," Fenris said one evening as they prepared for bed.

"I'm feeling much better," Sebastian admitted, before turning away to change into his nightshirt. He'd taken off his shirt and was reaching for his nightshirt when a hand touched the skin of his back, making him yelp and flinch, then spin around, eyes wide. They widened even further when he saw Fenris standing right there, dressed in nothing but his smalls. "F-f-fenris?" he stuttered, shocked.

A wry smile twisted Fenris' lips, and he glanced away and down for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly. "You're looking very well," the elf said again, quietly, then turned back to meet Sebastian's eyes. There was heat, there – heat, and a question, or an invitation.

"Oh..." said Sebastian, softly, standing frozen.

He had always been attracted to the elf, from the first time he'd ever seen him, pacing along at Hawke's side, graceful as a hunting beast and wary of everything. It had been the elf's physical presence and beauty that first attracted his attention, and then, later, as he grew to knew Fenris better and they became friends, it had been far more than just that which drew him; the elf's intelligence, his questioning mind... But he'd had his vows, back in Kirkwall, and Fenris had his own reasons to have no wish for a physical relationship with anyone. And he'd been content in their close friendship. After Kirkwall... well, they'd gone their separate ways at first, and by the time Fenris had appeared in Starkhaven, there was Anders, whom Sebastian was already falling in love with, though it had been some time before he'd realized, or at least admitted to himself, that he was. And for Fenris, in time, there had been Zevran, who had taught him not to fear.

"Zevran..." he began to say, mind filling rapidly with the thought of what a bad, bad idea it might be to become involved with the lover of an assassin.

Fenris _smiled_. "Who do you think told me that I should come spend some time with you? He and I have a very open relationship, though he is the one who most often takes advantage of that. How did you think we fathered our heirs?"

That distracted Sebastian for a moment, as he frowned in confusion. "I assumed they were adopted..."

Fenris shook his head. "No. Philena and Jehn are twins of one birth, but Philena is Zevran's daughter and Jehn is my son," he said, then held up one hand when Sebastian started to ask a second question. "Philena is _my_ heir and Jehn is Zevran's because we wished it done so. And Daren we're not sure which of us fathered, as he takes very much after their mother. If something were to happen to Philena or Jehn, he would inherit. But enough talk of heirs; it is not talk I wish right now," Fenris said, and stepped closer.

He could have refused, could have stepped aside, avoided the elf's approach – but twenty-three years of friendship and, yes, attraction, bade otherwise. He stood still, as Fenris moved closer yet, reaching up to twine fingers in Sebastian's greying hair and pull him down the slight distance needed for a kiss.

Sebastian shivered, then settled again, his own arms rising to wrap around the near-naked elf, as heat flared between them. It should have felt wrong, he thought, after almost seventeen years of Anders. It did for a fleeting moment, but then Fenris pressed up against him, the elf's mouth dropping open enough to invite exploration, and it began to feel very right indeed.

Fenris' hands were soon at the laces of his leggings, helping him remove his remaining clothes, and then the two of them were on the bed together, naked. He was nervous at first, but Fenris was not, and after a while he forgot anything but the slide of flesh against flesh, the desire to touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed. They were a moving, surging tangle of limbs and lips and fingers, with murmurs of reassurance, moans and cries of pleasure, a warm chuckle of amusement. And in the end, a long crest of pleasure, followed by tears again, and further comforting.

He felt better than he had since even before Anders' death, as he finally curled up for sleep, his and Fenris' legs still tangled together, their arms around each other. His love was dead, and that had not changed. But he was reminded now that there could still be lovers, and pleasure, even passion. There was still warmth in the world, even if it was a banked flame compare to the bonfire of emotions he'd felt with Anders, and still people who loved him, and whom he loved. It was enough.


	5. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as a prompt fill for a prompt from iamthaissa on Tumblr asking for "Something from somewhere in Eye of the Storm. May be light and fluffy schmoop or angsty or both. With cats."

It was good to be home again. The trip to Kirkwall had been productive, and it had been enjoyable to see Aveline – now Viscount Aveline – again, and Donnic and Varric as well, but Sebastian had missed Anders dreadfully, and Kirkwall was one place he knew he could never safely take the mage. Just seeing the silhouette of Starkhaven castle on the horizon made his heart lift, knowing how soon he would see his beloved again.

Even after all these years together, it still felt odd to think of the other man that way. The endearments came naturally when in his presence, but apart from him he was still reminded of how... _difficult_ , the reality of their relationship was. The apostate mage, the ruling prince... how much they'd once hated each other. How much they'd now come to love each other, that being parted for any length of time pained them both.

His hand pressed for a moment against his upper chest, feeling the amulet hidden under his clothing there, a small beaded bag concealing the tiny corked and wax-sealed vial that was Anders' phylactery. It only rarely left his person, from the day when Anders had given it to him as a proof of his trust and love, as proof that he _wanted_ Sebastian to always be able to find him, if something or someone parted them again. Thankfully it had never been needed, at least not in that way. They had only been parted twice in the years since, once during the worst battles of the mage-templar war, and now for this trip to Kirkwall.

"Do you think the horses have it in them for a last fast ride?" he asked the elf riding at his side.

Fenris grinned. "Why not... we've been at a slow pace most of the day," he said, then clapped his heels to Arianblaidd's flanks and whooped as his stallion shot forward like an arrow from a bow, the horse seemingly always willing for a good fast run. Sebastian's gelding, well-used to keeping up with the fleet-footed stallion, needed only the slightest encouragement to set off after him.

They did not slow until they reached the approach to the gates, changing to a more decorous pace for their entry to the city and the ride to the castle.

"Will you be staying in your rooms at the castle tonight, or going directly to your townhouse?" Sebastian asked Fenris as they made their way up the hill toward the castle.

Fenris smiled. "The townhouse. I am sure you and Anders can do without my company this evening. Shall I come by and join you two for lunch tomorrow? Or would supper be better?"

Sebastian laughed. "Best make it lunch, to give me an extra impetus to get back out of bed before noon. Thank you for your company on the journey."

Fenris shrugged, looking pleased. "It was good to see the others again. And Zevran."

"I am glad he was able to join us in Kirkwall, however briefly," Sebastian agreed. "I do not know how you and he can stand to spend so much of each year apart from each other; Anders and I could not do so."

Fenris' smile widened. "They say absence makes the heart go fonder. He and I are very fond of each other."

Sebastian laughed. "Merely fond?"

"More than fond; you know that," Fenris said gravely, then sighed. "I do miss him when we are parted, yes. But when we can find the time to be together for a while, here or in Ferelden or elsewhere... it is very sweet. He is worth the wait."

"I am sorry to keep you so often apart from him."

"It is not you that keeps us apart. If all we cared about was to always be together, we could do so, but that would require one or both of us abandoning the people and places that mean much to us; I here in Starkhaven, he there in Ferelden. We would have to be two very different people than who we are. I treasure Zevran as he is; I would not change him. Nor he me, at least not any more than our presence in each other's life already has. Do not feel sorry for me, Sebastian; I am vastly content with my life as it is."

Sebastian nodded. "It may be greedy of me to say so, but I know I would miss you if you left, as would Anders; I am glad you are willing to spend so much time here with us when you could be elsewhere."

"You are my friends," Fenris said, as if that explained all, as perhaps it did. Then he nodded to an upcoming intersection. "I turn there. I will see you tomorrow, at lunch."

"Tomorrow," Sebastian agreed, and lifted his hand in farewell as they reached the next street, Fenris turning off to the right to follow it around the crest of the hill to where his house stood near the far side of the castle, within sight and a short walk from the sally-gate that let into the yard of Anders' clinic. Sebastian continued uphill to the main castle gate, already anticipating seeing Anders again, and looking forward to their reunion. Which, knowing Anders, would likely run late into the night, and leave him completely exhausted and the mage smug and full of energy. The thought made him smile.

His guard had dispatched a messenger earlier that day to let the castle know that they would be returning that day; accordingly, by the time he passed through the castle gates and entered the courtyard it was already swarming with servants and guards come to greet his return home. Guard-Captain Cerin was waiting on the stairs before the main door, Lady Meridwen and her husband Dylan to one side of him. By the swell of her stomach, Meridwen would be presenting her husband with a child of his own soon; the thought made Sebastian smile again, even as he wondered how Niawen – Meridwen's bastard daughter by Sebastian's middle brother Nicholas, and one of Sebastian's two named heirs – would adjust to having a much younger half-sibling. Knowing Niawen, she would adjust quite well.

She and Ewan – the only survivor of his cousin Goren's family and his other heir – were also there on the stairs. As soon as his horse came to a stop Ewan came rushing down the steps, a wide welcoming smile on his face, both his aging wolfhound Tighe, and his friend and servant Pic the elf following close at his heels. Niawen followed them at a more sedate pace, as graceful as the slender gazehound that was her own personal pet, and walking at her heels.

Ewan was his usual exuberant self, and while he might not throw himself at Sebastian for a hug any longer as he had when he was a younger boy, his bow and handclasp of greeting were as energetic as those much-missed hugs had been. Niawen's greeting was far more restrained, as she clasped Sebastian's hand and then rose on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.

"By the Maker, I think you've put on another inch since I last saw you," Sebastian told the girl, then grinned at Ewan. "You've got a lot of catching up to do."

Ewan made a face. As usually happened with women, Niawen had gotten her adult height first, shooting up over the last few years to a height only half a head less than Sebastian's own. Ewan, the younger of the pair, had only just recently started his own growth spurt, and was still considerably shorter than either of them. Though judging by the size of his hands and feet and overall gawkiness, he was due to match or even out-grow Niawen in height at some point.

Thankfully he didn't seem to be at all bothered by Niawen being taller than him, nor when she demonstrated a better skill at mathematics, logic, and understanding politics than he; a matter that greatly relieved Sebastian, as the two would be husband and wife some day, having been formally betrothed as soon as they were both old enough for it to be legally acceptable. Their claims on the throne were about equally valid, and as they were more than far enough apart in consanguinity to do so, the obvious solution had been to betroth them and name them as co-rulers to follow once Sebastian died or stepped down. Thankfully both of them were amenable to the idea that some day they would be a couple, and by all signs to date were fond enough of each other that it might even be considered to be an eventual love match between the pair, though that was some years yet in the future.

"Where's Anders?" Sebastian asked, looking around and not seeing the mage.

"I sent word to him of your arrival," Cerin spoke him. "He sent word back that he couldn't come right now – attending a birth, he said."

"Oh... well, have his guard send me word when he's back from the clinic, if you would."

Cerin had a strange look on his face for a moment. "He's not at the clinic," he said. "He's in the cottage."

"Not in the clinic...?" Sebastian frowned, puzzled. "I don't understand."

Ewan laughed aloud. Niawen and he exchanged a smiling look.

"You two know something about this, do you?" Sebastian asked suspiciously.

"You'll need to go see for yourself, I think," Niawen said very primly, though her eyes were bright with laughter.

"I will then," Sebastian said, "Just as soon as I've washed off the worse of the horse and changed."

* * *

Sebastian was still doing up the laces at the neck of his shirt as he hurried down the secret staircase to Anders' cottage, hair still damp from his bath. Not that the existence of a staircase between Sebastian's rooms and Anders' cottage was really all that much of a secret any longer, at least within the castle, but it was still politic to maintain the fiction that Anders was his prisoner and that their quarters were not shared.

The doors at the bottom stood open, making it clear he was at least expected. "Anders?" he called as he passed through the closet that concealed the lower end of the stairway, and into the bedroom.

"Upstairs," came the faint answer from elsewhere in the cottage, along with a bark of greeting from Ganwyn, Anders' dog. Sebastian left the bedroom, passing down the short hallway toward the kitchen before climbing the stairs up to the attic room that served as Anders' study.

"What's this about you attending a birth?" Sebastian called as he reached the top of the stairs, looking around to see where the mage was and not spotting him anywhere.

"Shhh... over here," the mage said softly, one hand rising into view over the back of a couch at the far end of the room.

Sebastian walked over, and found Anders sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms folded on the edge of the seat cushion and a smile on his lips. There was a tortoiseshell cat on the couch, stretched out on its side – her side, Sebastian corrected himself, given the row of kittens tucked in along her belly – in a nest made out of what looked suspiciously like a shirt of Sebastian's and one of Anders' robes. He could feel himself blushing slightly, recognizing the shirt as he quickly did; he'd been wearing it the day before departing for Kirkwall, when he'd come to make his farewells to Anders... farewells that had started in this very room, and eventually ended downstairs in Anders' bed.

"That robe is never going to be the same again," he said lightly, taking in the reddish-brown stains that marked the wadded-up cloth.

Anders smiled up at him. "Nor your shirt, most likely. Well, it might come clean again if it's washed carefully in cold water... it's just stained with some blood and the afterbirths."

Sebastian made a face. "Even if it did wash clean, I'm not sure I'd want to wear it again after a cat had given birth on it. And where is this beauty from, anyway? You didn't have her when I left."

"Showed up with Ashes a couple of weeks ago. I'm pretty certain he's the father of her brood; those two look just like him," he said, a note of fondness in his voice as he pointed out a pair of grey kittens among the others.

"If you say so," Sebastian said; the indicated pair looking much like any grey kitten to him. He sat down on the couch, on the opposite side of Anders from the cat. She lifted her head and glared suspiciously at him for a moment, then returned to licking dry one of her kittens.

"I hope you're not planning to keep them all," Sebastian added, trying to count the little bodies. Two grey, a black, two ginger – one light, one dark – and a tortoiseshell. Five of the little wiggly creatures, all of them with their eyes fused shut, some still damp from birth. One of the gingers came loose from its teat, rolled over on its back, and thrashed around briefly, making a high-pitched squeaky sound, until its mother nosed it back into place.

"Maybe one or two," Anders said wistfully.

Sebastian smiled fondly at the mage. "Sure you wouldn't rather have another dog?"

Anders glanced at him, then smiled. "You and your dogs; you're almost as bad as a Fereldan, you know. No, I prefer cats. Quieter. Less underfoot," he said, and glanced over his shoulder toward the fireplace, where Ganwyn was stretched out on a sheepskin before the unlit fire, his grey-specked muzzle resting on outstretched forelegs that were stiffened and swollen with arthritis, despite everything that Anders could do for the dog in the way of healing. "They live longer, too," he said softly.

Sebastian sighed, and set one hand on Anders' shoulder. "True. He's had a long life, for his breed; and a good one, as your companion."

Anders smiled, and moved to lean his head against Sebastian's knee, smile deepening as Sebastian began to stroke his hair. "I'll miss him, when he goes. Losing Haelioni was hard enough, even as few years as I'd had her. And such a way for her to go..." He trailed off.

"She died doing what she considered her duty; protecting _you_ ," Sebastian said firmly.

"I know, I just... perhaps I'm not Fereldan enough myself, for all that I grew up there. I don't believe dogs should have a place in war."

"Perhaps not, but I can only be thankful that she was there to save you when you needed it; I would not have wanted to lose you."

Anders nodded, then turned his head enough to kiss Sebastian's hand, giving him a look from under lowered brows.

Sebastian grinned. "Sure you can leave your patient now?"

Anders smiled, then pushed himself up and rose to his feet. "I'm sure; she's delivered them all, they're all healthy, I'm pretty sure she can take care of things on her own from here." He glanced at his hands, which had a few smears of blood on them, then glanced at his clothes, which had escaped acquiring any similar stains. "I'd better wash first," he said, then looked at Sebastian's damp hair. "I would guess you're not joining me?"

"No, I've washed already. Shall I put together a snack for us? Or come keep you company while you bathe?"

Anders smiled warmly at him. "Both? Just a small snack, something I can eat while in the tub. We can eat properly later. After I've thoroughly ravished you."

Sebastian grinned. "That sounds like a good plan," he agreed


End file.
